


Strength, Courage and Hope

by AmayaNatsuya



Series: Heart of the Force [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Greedo is a bastard, M/M, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are gladiators, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan adopt Anakin, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmayaNatsuya/pseuds/AmayaNatsuya
Summary: A collection of side stories for Lead Me From Fear To Love that explore the lives of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Anakin prior to arriving at the Jedi temple in addition to offering glimpses into the Jedi whose lives the Skywalkers have touched.  These stories will probably not make sense unless you've read Lead Me From Fear To Love.Chapter:--One: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan meet for the first time in the gladiatorial arena.--Two:  Watto wins Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan in a bet, and meet Shmi and Anakin Skywalker.--Three:  Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon adopt Anakin.





	1. Resurrection

Obi-Wan shivered and curled more tightly in on himself.  The cell he'd been thrown into was damp and cold, a thin scattering of straw the only insulation between Obi-Wan and the stone floor.  His head throbbed steadily, and the boy wondered if it was from the mind wipe he'd suffered two weeks prior, just after he was sold for the first time, or if he was succumbing to illness.

The boy sniffed softly, wishing he could remember his former home well enough to miss it.  He had been Jedi, he knew that much, and he also knew he'd been sold to the slavers by his former knight-master, though who that was—Obi-Wan sighed.  The machine had taken the people first.  Whatever friends or loves ones he once had were lost to the machine.

After the mind wipe, Obi-Wan had been stuffed in the cargo hold of a ship for a day and taken to something called, "The Arena" to fight as a "gladiator."

He'd killed a man the day after he arrived, and even with the mind-wipe, even without remembering his time with the Jedi, he knew it was the first time he'd killed a sentient being.  He'd used his lightsaber, the only thing he had left from before, bisecting him neatly down the middle.  The boy had vomited after, the scent of burnt flesh searing his nostrils.

He'd fought again two nights later, and again every other night since.  He'd mostly fought animals, the crowd booing and cheering by turns, their cheers exceptionally loud when they thought he'd die.  In the days he'd been in the arena he'd murdered two more sentients in addition to the animals, just to stay alive.  He'd vomited after both, tears and sick left by the corpses.

Further down the stone corridor, one of the heavy, metal doors clanged shut.  The echoing sound made Obi-Wan whimper softly, clutching his head in pain, but he looked up when a shadow passed the bars of his cell.  The guards were dragging a giant of a man towards the entrance gate to the arena, their eyes wary despite the slave's chains.  Obi-Wan caught his breath.  Blood made the man's sepia hair stringy, the strands hanging in his blank eyes.  Obi-Wan's heart ached as he realized that while the man's expression was stony and dead, his large shoulders were slightly slumped in exhaustion and defeat.

"Don't know why they bother," One of the guards commented as they passed, shoving the chained man with mock courage.  "He'll off hisself soon enough.  Bastard's already losing fights."

"He better not lose this one," The other guard grumbled.  "I've got good money riding on him winning."

The slave stiffened, his azure eyes meeting Obi-Wan's blue-green for a mere breath, before the man jerked forward, nearly dragging the guards off their feet.  The other guard cursed, then glowered at the slave.  "I've got good money on it too.  I bet he'd finally bite it."

"After ten years?"  The first guard snorted.  "Yeah, right."

"It's a damn miracle he's lived this long," The second guard scoffed.  "And with the group he's facing tonight?  No way is that bastard going to make it out of there."

Obi-Wan found himself hoping the man was okay, despite knowing that for the man to live, he would probably have to kill whoever was in the arena with him.  After what felt like hours, the second guard started cursing while the first laughed, and Obi-Wan sagged in relief.  Whatever else happened, he was sure the man had survived.

"Your new master seems to think tonight's performance earned you a little reward," The first guard told the bloodied gladiator as they stopped outside Obi-Wan's cell, the guard typing in the code for the door.

Terror had Obi-Wan scrabbling back, eyes huge, as the guard opened the door.  He'd heard the cries of the other new slaves, gifted to the older gladiators for a time—usually a night or two—and felt their pain and horror twist through the Force.  Tears trickled down the boy's cheeks as the man was shoved into the cell, the guard taking the slave's chains only after the door was safely closed.  Obi-Wan wondered what kind of monster this man was, to make the guards so afraid of him.

The gladiator stared at him for a moment, Obi-Wan drawing in a sharp breath.  There was no way he could fight off the large man for any length of time, and there was no telling what the man would do to him if he tried.  The man stared at him a moment more, something like sorrow sparking in his empty eyes, then the older gladiator settled in the corner furthest from Obi-Wan, still and silent.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, seeing the injuries covering the man's too-thin frame and the way he curled protectively into the wall, almost like a frightened child.  Compassion swept away the boy's terror and Obi-Wan ripped a strip of material from his ragged tunic and wet it with some of his precious water ration.  The gladiator started at Obi-Wan's approach, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I thought—maybe you'd like to clean up," Obi-Wan offered the wet cloth to the man almost shyly.  The man's eyes flicked from Obi-Wan to the cloth and the gladiator took it, silently scrubbing the blood and paint from his skin.  Obi-Wan gave the man a small smile.  "I'm Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The gladiator looked far less fierce without the black stripe across his eyes and Obi-Wan guessed the man was in his mid-twenties, about a decade Obi-Wan's senior.  If the guards were anything to go by, the man had started fighting when he was Obi-Wan's age.  It was little wonder the man looked so broken.  Obi-Wan hadn't even been there two weeks and he could already feel the weight of the blood on his small hands.  Drawing in a fortifying breath, and trying not to think about what the gladiator might do to him, Obi-Wan squirmed under the man's arm to wrap him in a hug.

The gladiator jerked in surprise, nearly throwing Obi-Wan away from him.  It was almost as though he'd forgotten what a hug was, going stiff and uncertain, arms as far from the boy as possible.  Obi-Wan snuggled a little closer.  "It's okay.  It's a hug."

The man gingerly wrapped Obi-Wan in his arms, curling around him after a long moment.  Despite being surrounded and trapped by the gladiator, the Force whispered of peace and safety.  After several minutes, the man pulled away and let Obi-Wan retreat back to his solitary corner.  The gladiator refused to eat when food was brought to them, giving Obi-Wan his own portion, though he did drink the offered water.  Exhausted, Obi-wan eventually curled up to sleep, shivering in the night's chill.

The gladiator waited until the boy had fallen asleep, then curled carefully around him, large hand pressed over Obi-Wan's heart and Obi-Wan, for the first time since he arrived, felt warm.  
<>*<>

Obi-Wan fought the next night, barely making it to the waste bucket in his cell before he vomited up what little was in his belly.  It was only when he finished that he realized the big gladiator was also there, returned to Obi-Wan's cell after his own match.  The man silently held a cup to Obi-Wan's lips, hand rubbing the boy's back.  Obi-Wan accepted the offered water and wiped his face, then collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

It was all too much for the young Jedi, slavery, the arena, all of it.  Obi-Wan didn't want to kill people.  He didn't want to fight to earn greedy slavers money.  He just wanted to go _home_.  Whatever, and wherever, that was.  But the Jedi had sold him.  Had sanctioned a mind wipe.  Even if could remember his home, he couldn't go back there; they'd cast him out and sold him.  Whatever home he had before, he didn't any longer.

The gladiator held Obi-Wan as the boy cried into his filthy tunic.  The boy fell asleep in the gladiator's arms and was startled when he woke in the same place the next morning.  The gladiator had fallen asleep at some point, leaning against the hard wall.  Obi-Wan's head was tucked into the hollow of his throat, his cheek against the teenager's shaggy, ginger-gold hair, one hand tangled in the slender braid that snaked behind the boy's right ear.

Obi-Wan froze, not wanting to wake the elder.  The gladiator was clearly exhausted, his breathing even and peaceful.  Even after the elder woke, the pair stayed like that for a time, taking comfort in one another.  Eventually Obi-Wan rose, collecting their rations for the day and offering the man his share.  The man smiled gently and took only half, but Obi-Wan shook his head.  "You need to eat.  Please.  I don't want you to die."

The man blinked, startled, and took the rest.

For the next week the man stayed in Obi-Wan's cell, the pair falling into an easy camaraderie and Obi-Wan soon found he enjoyed the man's company despite his silence.  There was still an edge of fear when he was around, cries from the other slaves making him dart quick looks in the gladiator's direction.

"Thank you for not hurting me," Obi-Wan told the man softly, knees curled to his chest.  "I don't remember much from before, but I've never—um—lain with anyone before."

The man gently touched Obi-Wan's cheek, shaking his head, and Obi-Wan _knew_ this man had not been as lucky as Obi-Wan.

"Will you tell me your name?"  Obi-Wan asked.  "If you want—you don't have too."

The gladiator turned away, shaking his head.  Obi-Wan offered a small smile and let it go.  Obi-Wan had a feeling the man didn't want to get attached, had already forgotten Obi-Wan's name.  There were times Obi-Wan wasn't certain he'd remember it much longer either.

Obi-Wan didn't ask again, though the next time the gladiator entered the arena, Obi-Wan saw a scrap of cloth about his wrist—the strip Obi-Wan had torn from his tunic.  
<>*<>

A week after the gladiator's stay, Obi-Wan faced his first group.  The crowd roared in excitement, a slip of a human boy against two monstrous Besalisks, a near-human even more massive than Obi-Wan's gladiator friend, a giant Wookie, and a reptilian being a head shorter than the Wookie but twice as wide.  The boy swallowed hard, his eyes going wide as he clutched his lightsaber.  He was unprepared, he knew that, but unless he found a way to win, he knew the beings would kill him.

For almost three minutes, Obi-Wan managed to stay alive, far more nimble than the beings he was fighting, but the reptilian being managed to punch Obi-Wan in the side of the head, leaving him dazed long enough for the Wookie to grab him.  The being roared, ripping Obi-Wan's lightsaber from his hand, dislocating the boy's shoulder and breaking his arm in the process.  Obi-Wan shrieked with pain as the Wookie hurled him halfway across the arena, barely able to grasp the Force enough to cushion his fall.

The near-human was waiting when he landed, stomping viciously on his Obi-Wan's leg several times and snapping both his shin and femur.  The boy nearly blacked out from pain, waking when the Besalisks grabbed him on either side, wrists in one set of hands and ankles in the other and yanked him in opposite directions.  Obi-Wan howled in agony as the world went white.

Helpless, Obi-Wan gave himself to the Force's keeping.

An enraged roar echoed through the arena, and his gladiator sprinted toward him, the Force thundering.  "OBI-WAN!"

Spring green light swept around Obi-Wan, singing with a familiar, crystalline hum.  The Besalisks dropped him, their arms thudding to the ground with Obi-Wan's broken body.  The wookie roared and charged the gladiator.  Obi-Wan whined softly, desperately reaching for the Force to yank the man out of harm's way.  The gladiator gave himself to the tug, twisting in a graceful flip as Obi-Wan pulled and cutting the Wookie across the rib-cage.

The moment he landed, the gladiator sprang forward, lightsabers in either hand.  The Besalisks had time for a final, terrified scream when the gladiator parted their heads from their bodies, then turned on the near-human and reptilian being.  The crowd roared as the gladiator offered the beings a toothy smile, but refused to move from his protective stance over Obi-Wan.

"Now you _die_ , Jedi," The near-human snarled.  Obi-Wan tried to focus on the gladiator.  He had lightsabers, but he didn't think the man was a Jedi.  The Force whispered that he was right, and Obi-Wan wondered why he was called, "Jedi."

The near-human and reptilian being charged the gladiator, brandishing a vibroblade.  The gladiator sneered, twisting beneath the blade and pressing the hilt of his 'saber to the other man's chest.  The near-human's eyes widened and the gladiator ignited his 'saber, piercing the man's heart, then ripping it through the man's chest cavity.  The reptilian being grabbed the gladiator from behind and Obi-Wan moaned when his gladiator thrashed, trying to get free.

A soft glint touched the corner of Obi-Wan's eye, and the boy felt the Force roil around him and he desperately called it to his hand.  Using the Force to strengthen his arm, Obi-Wan thumbed the 'saber on and thrust upward.  The reptilian being died quietly, collapsing atop Obi-Wan as he dropped the gladiator.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan whispered as the gladiator staggered to his feet.  Obi-Wan knew there were no medics in the arena.  Either a slave left under their own power, or they were left in the arena until the end of the night.  If they were lucky enough to survive, their owner _might_ consent to paying for medical attention.  Since Obi-Wan was unable to move, it was likely he would die before the fights ended.  Even if he did manage to survive the fights, he would never receive the medical treatment he needed.

Gently, the gladiator gathered Obi-Wan into his arms, using the Force to help ease the boy's pain.  Wearily, Obi-Wan dropped his head to the gladiator's chest, listening to the man's heartbeat.  So softly that Obi-Wan almost missed it, the man breathed, "My name is Qui-Gon Jinn."  
<>*<>

Obi-Wan was allowed to spend three hours submersed in bacta, long enough to heal the worst of the damage done during the fight.  He and Qui-Gon were locked in his cell after he was released from the bacta tank, both given the next three days off.  Qui-Gon gently touched the boy's hair, relief in his eyes.

"They are making us arena partners," Qui-Gon told him gently, urging Obi-Wan to lay down, head on Qui-Gon's thigh.  "Our lives are irrevocably intertwined, now."

Obi-Wan shivered, tensed and waiting for Qui-Gon to use him, to force Obi-Wan to his knees or pin him down and take him.  The gladiator sighed softly, stroking Obi-Wan hair.  "I don't understand," Obi-Wan whispered.  "What does that mean?"

"It means we live, fight, and die together," The elder explained.  "We cannot be separated."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan curled in on himself.  He knew he was a liability for the older man.

"I am not," Qui-Gon answered, eyes soft.  "Before I met you, I was lost.  Dead inside.  Now, I am not.  If not for you, I would not have survived these past weeks.  Thank you.  I had given up hope and you have returned it to me."

"Are you—I've heard some of the other pairs—"  Obi-Wan swallowed hard.

"I will not rape you," Qui-Gon assured him.  "Nor will I assault you.  I know you don't believe me yet, that you probably won't for quite some time, but I will not hurt you that way, and I will do whatever I can do keep others from hurting you too.  I promise."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan let his head drop again.

"Do you know how to reach a healing trance?"  Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head.  "I hadn't learned yet.  How do you know?  I heard—in the arena—they called you Jedi.  Were you?"

"There are Jedi that come to the arena sometimes," Qui-Gon shook his head.  "One of them taught me to use the Force, showed me how to build and use lightsabers, but I was never Jedi.  I've never been anything but a slave."

"Why do they call you a Jedi, then?"

"Because of the lightsabers.  It's like . . . a stage name," Qui-Gon shrugged.  "Most of my owners never even knew my name.  You'll be a Jedi now, too."

"I was a Jedi," Obi-Wan frowned.  "I don't remember much—they mind-wiped me—but I remember that.  I really was a Jedi."

"A very young one," Qui-Gon smiled.  "I will teach you what I know, and together, we will figure out more."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan weakly hugging Qui-Gon's leg.  Qui-Gon laid a hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently, his eyes soft.

Far, far from the arena, in the highest room on the tallest spire of the Jedi Temple, Mace Windu felt a shatterpoint shift.  
<>*<>


	2. Tatooine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watto wins Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, and the two gladiators meet Shmi and Anakin for the first time.

"Only _you_ could make friends with a gundark," Obi-Wan complained to his lover as he rolled to his back on the stone floor of their cell in the arena.  It was the last stop on the Nebula Circuit and they only had three days left before the circuit ended.  The match that night had been one of their last.

"I don't know why they were so surprised," Qui-Gon told the nineteen year old with a huff.  "I make friends with _every_ animal they toss in with us.  Why would this one be different?"

"It was an angry gundark!"

"So?  A lot of animals stick in with us are angry," Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  "So what?  And what's the big deal about it being a gundark, anyway?  What even _is_ a gundark?"

"Vicious, nasty creatures that try to kill everything.  And _should_ have tried to kill you, too."  Obi-Wan threw his hands in an almost frustrated gesture.  "Except you, apparently, can make friends with an angry gundark!"

"Obi-Wan—"

"I thought you were going to get _eaten_!"  Obi-Wan half-sobbed.  "Right in front of me!  I thought—I thought I would have to feel you _die_!"

"Oh a chuisle mo chroí," Qui-Gon wrapped himself around Obi-Wan, holding him tight.  "I'm so sorry."

Obi-Wan's tears subsided a few breaths later, his fear fading with Qui-Gon's steady presence over their bond.  Qui-Gon used a scrap of his threadbare tunic to wipe away Obi-Wan's tears.  Once the younger man had calmed, he turned and began checking Qui-Gon over for injuries.

Both were panting, sweaty and stated when one of the guards was sent to fetch them.  "Looks like Shaddaar lost you to some Toydarian," The guard told them as they re-dressed.  "Some junk shop dealer from Tatooine.  He was the only one to take the long odds you'd make friends with that damn thing in the high stakes ring."

"Hope you make the same bet he did," Obi-Wan frowned as he and Qui-Gon were chained.  "Even low states would have made you some nice credits."

"My lady will be getting a gift thanks to the pair of you, yes," The guard nudged them down the hall.  "And she's sent something for you as well."

The guard gave them each a pair of flawless, clear crystals.  They were inexpensive crystals, found all over Molavar, but strong enough to be used in a lightsaber.  Qui-Gon grinned.

"Thank your lady for us, yeah?"

The guard just grinned and led them to the small building where bets involving slaves were handled.  Inside, a monstrous Hutt was arguing loudly with a disfigured Toydarian while a mediator and irritated bookie watched, board.  After several minutes, the mediator snapped, "You bet your damn slaves and lost.  Fucking _deal_ with it!"

The Hutt glowered but fell silent, and from there it only took a handful of minutes for their papaers to be transferred to their new owner.  Arena slaves traded owners frequently—bought, sold, traded, won, and lost.  It was rare Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were even required to attend such transactions.  The Toydarian, whom Shaddaar called Watto, gestured toward the door.  "Load them on the shuttle."

"There are only three days left of the Nebula Circuit," Shaddaar told Watto, greed in his piggy eyes.  "And they _are_ undefeated.  Leaving them in could net you a lot of money."

Watto considered it for a moment, then nodded.  Qui-Gon wondered if the being would lose them again in the meantime.  Gambling—and gambling addicts—were rampant in the arena.  Watto might own them _now_ , but in three days they could belong to anyone.

To the gladiators' surprise, however, Watto still owned them three days later.  He had refused to bet the slaves themselves, though he'd made a great deal of money off the fights they'd won and the prize winnings given to their owns since they'd finished the arena undefeated.

After winning the Nebula Circuit, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were chained and loaded on a small, filthy starship headed for Tatooine.  Because few shuttles went to the desolate planet, the pair actually had their own, cramped quarters where they were free to roam about.  Watto had tossed the locked cases containing their gladiatorial gear into the room after them, scowling, "That's your problem.  _Don't_ lose it."

"I don't think he has any idea how dangerous arena slaves are," Qui-Gon murmured to his lover, wide-eyed.

"They did mention he was fresh meat," Obi-Wan reminded Qui-Gon.  "You think he'll pull us out of the arena?"

"After the windfall he got from Nebula?"  Qui-Gon shook his head.  "Tatooine has their own arena that's circuit neutral, though.  We're big names in the arena—maybe he'll fight us there instead of shipping us all over the galaxy?"

"It would be cheaper and having us there would draw gladiators from all over," Obi-Wan nodded, catching on to Qui-Gon's idea quickly.  "I heard he also has a junk shop of some kind.  Maybe we can work there, too, instead of being stuck in the arena all the time."

"That would be nice," Qui-Gon had a dreamy look in his eyes.  "Building something instead of killing . . . it's been a long time since I've been anything but a murderer."

Obi-Wan nodded, a little dreamy himself as he pictured actually being able to leave the arena for days at a time, even if he was still a slave.  Most gladiators, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon no exception, were usually confined to the practice yards or the ring itself unless they were thrown into the wildness somewhere for some kind of survival test.  Being able to wander about like the worker slaves would be a nice change, even if there was more oversight by their master.

"If we aren't on the circuit all the time, maybe we won't have to eat that nutrition glop," Obi-Wan added, grinning.  Nutrition gruel would provide all the nutrients a gladiator needed in addition to most of their caloric intake, but it was hardly filling and tasted of cardboard and wet dog fur.  While it was not the _only_ thing they ate, gruel and ration bars made up roughly 95% of their diet.

"Maybe," Qui-Gon didn't sound convinced.  Of course, nutrition gruel was the only thing they were given that didn't have mold on it and wasn't half rotten, so his lack of excitement was understandable despite his dislike of the gruel.

The journey to Tatooine was quiet, the gladiators spending the two day trip doing what exercises they could in the small space, meditating, or making love to one another.  Since they were usually locked in cages or crates during these journeys, having their own quarters—and a bed—was a novelty.  Just as good, Watto ignored them the entirety of the trip, leaving them to their own devices once he dropped off a box of ration bars for them to share while they travelled.

"We even get _water_ showers," Qui-Gon poked his head from their tiny 'fresher.  Obi-Wan grinned, happy they were able to scrub themselves clean.  Considering their usual bathing was being soaked daily with a delousing agent, hosed off once a week and allowed to bath properly every month or so, being able to shower whenever they wanted was a treat.  They truly were living in the lap of luxury during the trip.  
<>*<>

Watto eyed the now-clean gladiators as they disembarked, belongings in hand.  The pair traded uncertain looks and shrugs, curiosity and worry fluttering along their bond.  Watto muttered something to himself and began flying towards a squat, domed building that appeared to be a shop of some kind.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon obediently followed, quickly breaking into a sweat beneath Tatooine's twin suns.  The desert planet was sweltering and Qui-Gon, shoeless, hastily molded the Force to protect his bare feet from the burning sand.  The gladiators knew little of Tatooine, the backwater planet in the middle of Hutt controlled space.  Away from the half-buried, domed buildings of Mos Espa, pale orange sand stretched as far as the eye could see.

"I have two other slaves," Watto announced as he shoved the door to his shop open.  "A woman and her child."

"Yes, Master," Both hastily agreed, Qui-Gon ducking as he entered the shop to avoid slamming his head into the low doorway.

They were greeted by a brown haired woman when they entered, her dark eyes flicking nervously over the new slaves.  "Welcome back, Master," She offered, boney hands gripping her roughspun skirt to keep them from trembling nervously.  "You brought . . . guests?"

"New slaves," Watto corrected, though the gladiators were startled to find he sounded almost kind when he spoke to her.  "Won them in a bet at the arena on Molavar."

"Gladiators," The woman's eyes went wide.  "Are you going to fight them?"

"Eh . . . probably, probably," Watto nodded.  "The money they make, it is good.  But _you_ were the one who needed extra hands, Shmi.  The shop is busy in the day, when the arena is empty.  At night . . . we will see."

Fear flickered over the woman's weathered face.  "Ani—"

"Is too young for this," Watto snapped.  "I need heavy lifters, not ankle biters."

"Of course," Shmi dropped her eyes.  "And with him nearing five . . . "

"I am not selling the boy," Watto answered, though his tone had gentled.  "The boy, he is a good mechanic and there is plenty of work for him here.  These two, though, they will fight in the arena and help around the shop.  More hands at the shop, money and status from the arena . . . this is good."

"Yes, Master," Shmi bowed.  "Shall I create a list of duties for them?"

Watto made a face, looking the pair over.  "Tomorrow.  Today is getting late and they need something without blood on it.  The customers will be scared off if they look like that when they work.  You and the boy will handle that today."

"Yes, Master," Shmi repeated, bowing again.

"They will share your quarters," Watto added.  Shmi paled slightly.  She and Anakin shared one of the smallest spaces in the slave quarters already, and gladiators were known to be violate, violent beings.  While other owners might cram up to eight slaves in quarters like hers, being so close to gladiators was unnerving.

"Keep that big one intimidating," Watto added as Shmi prepared to leave.  "Maybe it'll cut down those damn troublemakers."

Shmi hoped so.  With a cantina on one side, an eating house on the other, and a whorehouse three shops down, having someone around to discourage troublemakers would be welcome.  Obi-Wan glanced at his lover.  "Having us fight in the arena and work in the shop will be a draw for customers as well as a deterrent for troublemakers."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement, calloused hands gripping Obi-Wan's shoulder.  "If anyone runs the circuits much, they'll probably recognize us."

— _Arena famous,—_ Obi-Wan muttered over the bond.

— _After five and fifteen years, well . . .—_ Qui-Gon shrugged.

Watto grunted, tossing a bag of coins at Shmi.  "Go.  Take the rest of the day, make sure they're clean and dressed better tomorrow.  Be here at dawn."

"Yes, Master," Shmi smiled, surreptitiously weighing the bag to figure out how much was in it.

"If you manage to haggle those swindlers down, you can keep the rest," Watto laughed at his own joke.  Shmi knew there was no way he'd given them enough money to avoid haggling to even purchase what Watto wanted the new slaves to have in the first place.  If they managed to have money left over, it would be a miracle.  "Now get out."

Shmi bowed, then slipped past the gladiators, shoulders tensing as she moved close enough for them to touch.  Obi-Wan shifted, and Shmi nearly raced out the door, the pair following her.  Qui-Gon gave her a small smile, and the woman stiffened, doing her best to ignore them as she called for her son.  "Anakin!"

"Mommy!"  A little boy with hair the color of sunshine raced around the corner of the shop, leaping into the woman's arms.  He was the type of dirty only little boys can manage, his eyes the blue of Tatooine's brilliant sky.  The boy blinked at the sight of the gladiators, pointing to them with greasy fingers.  "Who that?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon gave the boy the salute he gave the arena crowds, earning a giggle from the child.  "And what's your name, a chara?"

The boy perked up at being addressed since children, especially slave children, were often overlooked by everyone on Tatooine.  "I'm Anakin Skywalker!  My mommy is Shmi."

"And we're your new housemates," Shmi made sure to stay between the gladiators and her son.

"More like _we_ are _your_ new housemates," Qui-Gon winked at her.  "Seeing how you were there first."

Anakin considered the pair for a moment, then demanded, "How come you got funny names?  Like freemen?"

"I'm from Eireann," Qui-Gon replied.  "Names like mine are common there."

"I was freeborn," Obi-Wan shrugged.  "The Jedi sold me into slavery five years ago."

Shmi gasped, jaw dropping at Obi-Wan's words.  "The Jedi—"  The woman started, then cut herself off.  "I'm sorry, that's none of my business.  But my son is right.  Names like yours won't earn you friends on Tatooine.  Have you nicknames?"

"I was called Khi, sometimes," Qui-Gon offered.  "It's . . . word play on my name in my native tongue."

"That should be suitable," Shmi told him, then turned to Obi-Wan.  "What about you?"

"I don't remember anything," Obi-Wan frowned, confused.  "Ben, maybe?  Some of the children who could get my name right called me that."

"Children?"  Shmi tilted her head.  "In the arena?"

"Not in the arena," Obi-Wan's brow furrowed.  "They were—they were young.  I think.  From before, I think.  I'm sorry.  I just . . . I can't remember."

"O— _Ben_ suffered a partial mind wipe after he was sold the first time," Qui-Gon explained.  So he loses things, sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Shmi's sorrow for Obi-Wan's lost memories overcame her fear and the woman laid a hand on the young man's arm.  "I wish they'd never discovered that damned technology."

"Better mind wiped than dead, I suppose," Obi-Wan offered a broken smile.

"Perhaps," Shmi sighed.  "Even so . . . I was mind wiped, fifteen . . . maybe twenty years ago.  Losing all that . . . it's a terrible, terrible thing and I don't have the weight of partial memories as you do.  At least I can't remember to miss them."

"I don't remember anyone from before," Obi-Wan admitted.  "And I think that would be worse, to be able to remember that you have people to miss."

Shmi held Anakin a little tighter, and Anakin threw his arms around her, flashing his baby teeth in a wide grin.  "I love you, Mommy!"

"We should head to the market and do as Master Watto bid," Qui-Gon broke in, gently.  "It grows late and there is no reason to be disobedient over _this_."

"While that is true, Master Watto is a decent enough owner," Shmi told them, fear a mere whisper in the back of her mind after speaking with the gladiators.  "He doesn't use the whip or shock collars, he keeps us fed—mostly.  Ani's never really gone hungry, though we don't always get as much as we _want_."

"Sounds better than some of our past owners, though the arena is better than outside it in some ways," Qui-Gon said.  "They have incentive to keep us breathing, at least until we die in a fight, so we mostly get fed enough."

"What kind of punishments _does_ he use, if not the whip?"  Obi-Wan asked as they walked, the two men staring about the bustling spaceport.

"He likes to call us names, mostly, but that's not really punishment."  Shmi gave a tiny chuckle.  "I think he's practicing his insults for beings he doesn't like."

"Sounds like fun," Qui-Gon laughed.  "Maybe he'll learn some new ones from us if he puts us in the arena.  Taunting is a favorite past time for gladiators."

Shmi smiled for a moment, then sobered as she continued, "He's slapped us around a bit, batted us with his wings.  He'll pull our hair on occasion.  If he's very angry, he's got a leather wrapped wire that he uses for a switch.  It stings and might leave a welt if he hits you hard enough, but it won't draw blood or scar.  He's put us in chains before, for doing stupid things to the inventory."

"I get chained up all the time," Anakin piped up, holding out his arms.  He bore faint tan lines from manacles, though he had no sores or scars.  His ankles were the same.

"Watto chains him behind the counter," Shmi explained.  "Though it's more a leash than anything.  Ani likes getting into things."

"Is he . . . cruel?"  Qui-Gon asked, hesitantly.

"No, he'll let him free if Anakin asks to use the 'fresher or whatever," Shmi shrugged.  "It's to keep him out of things, mostly, and Watto will give him things to do."

"It's not bad," Anakin agreed.  "I get to fix stuff!  It's fun!"

"I'm just thankful there won't be a whip or shock collar outside the arena," Obi-Wan sighed in relief.  At Shmi's wide-eyed look, he added, "They're standard there; slaves aren't allowed to be in the arena without them.  In case you go on a rampage or something.  We are trained fighters with weapons."

"And they don't like exploding the good ones," Qui-Gon grinned at his own grim, half-joke.  Shmi frowned at him.  It really wasn't funny, to joke about such things.  Qui-Gon only shrugged.

"No one is dumb enough to do that anyway," Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  "They know they won't get anywhere."

"Let's see," Shmi muttered, looking them over as they approached the bazaar.  "Clothes and shoes—sandals, at least.  Boots if we can swing it.  And lots of sun cream.  To protect you fair skinned boys from the two sisters."

"Two sisters?"

"The twin suns of Tatooine," Shmi nodded.  "It's a Jawa legend, I think.  Might be from the Tuskens.  One of the native populations, at least."

The gladiators shrugged, trusting Shmi's expertise on the matter.  At the first shop, however, Obi-Wan smoothly slid into the conversation while Shmi was attempting to bargain with the being over some tunics for them.  When he was done, Shmi was gaping.  Not only had Obi-Wan managed to drop the price of the clothing in half, he'd also managed to convince the being to part with a handful extra for free.

"A chuisle mo chroí," Qui-Gon smiled softly.  "It's a gift."

"He's doing all our shipping," Shmi replied as they headed to the next shop.  Obi-Wan did so happily, and by the time they finished, not only did they have twice what Shmi had intended, they had new things for both Shmi and Anakin, meat for late meal, _and_ leftover money.

"I'm a little out of practice," Obi-Wan mourned as they headed to Tatooine's slave quarters.  The cramped apartments were well over a thousand years old, built into the cliff face at the edge of Mos Espa by Tatooine's early settlers.  "I can do better."

"At that point, it might just be stealing," Shmi replied flatly.  "People aren't supposed to pay _you_ to buy their things."

Obi-Wan grinned and followed her into the apartments.  The Skywalkers' apartment was small and cramped, the doors a handful of centimeters too small for Qui-Gon to get through without ducking.  There was a common room and kitchen area, two minuscule bedrooms, a 'fresher, and a balcony.

"I'll clean out the large of the bedrooms for you to share," Shmi offered, considering.  The larger wasn't that much bigger, but at least Qui-Gon would be able to lay down in it, where he'd need to curl up in the smaller one to lay down any way but diagonally.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon moved toward the kitchen.  "It has been some time since I could cook—would it be all right if I prepared late meal?"

"Go ahead," Shmi had little to move, but Obi-Wan's offer to help was still appreciated.  When she sat down to eat, realizing Qui-Gon had made sure Anakin would have enough to eat and split the rest evenly between the three adults, Shmi realized she wasn't frightened of them.  And then Obi-Wan offered to teach both her and Anakin to read.

Shmi felt her heart lighten, realizing that not only were the gladiators not beings to be frightened of, they were both good men.  Obi-Wan looked surprised at her hug, though he happily returned it, as did Qui-Gon.  "Thank you," The woman told the pair.  "And welcome home."  
<>*<>

The first two tendays on Tatooine were quiet.  Watto had only entered the pair in a handful of matches, and the gladiators they'd fought hadn't been of any particular note, nor were they death matches.  Tatooine could hardly afford to lose the gladiators.  The two also settled in at the shop, their hard-earned muscles finding plenty of work, though they had also convinced Watto to allow them time to train at the arena at least twice a week.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's presence at the shop freed up Shmi's time to organize orders and records and, in the four weeks since the gladiators had arrived there, business was running smoother and picking up.  Watto would disappear for hours, sometimes, now able to leave the slaves in charge of the shop, and Obi-Wan spent some of that time teaching Shmi and Anakin to read properly.

The fifth week after the gladiators arrived was the first time they'd had any trouble with the Mos Espa natives.  Anakin was coming inside from the scrap yard behind the shop when he crashed headlong into a small, expensive-looking droid.  The pair went tumbling, though neither appeared damaged by the fall.

"You clumsy piece of filth!"  The droid's owner shrieked at Anakin.  "How _dare_ you?  I demand to see your owner.  _At once_!"

"We're very sorry, sir," Shmi begged as the being dragged Anakin toward the front counter by the hair.  Obi-Wan darted off to fetch Watto from the back room, jaw clenching while Anakin sobbed in pain and reached for his mother as he stumbled along behind the being.  "Please, sir, there was no damage done—"

"Silence, _slave_ ," The being backhanded Shmi, the strike hard enough to send her flying.  Qui-Gon caught her before she slammed into the desk, eyes narrowed.  The being glowered at both adults.  "Bring me your master at once!"

"Our associate is fetching him," Qui-Gon replied, rising to his full height.  The being, over a head shorter than the gladiator, swallowed hard.

"Chain the brat, too!"  The being snapped, thrusting Anakin at his mother.  "And shut it the fuck up!  Its cries annoy me."

Shmi scooped her son up, rocking him as Obi-Wan returned with Watto.  The Toydarian blinked, confused, as he stared at the chaos in his shop.  "And how may I be of assistance, good ser?"

"I demand compensation!"  The being snapped, pointing at Anakin.  "That slave brat of yours knocked over my new droid!"

"If there were damages, I'd pay you, " Watto frowned, looking the droid over and finding nothing.  After a second check ending in the same conclusion, Watto scowled at the being.  "Now get out of my shop unless you're buying!  Time is money and you're wasting mine!"

"If you won't compensate me for lost time, then I demand satisfaction!"  The being snarled.

All four adults stared at him, uncomprehending.  The being had wasted his own time, coming to Watto's for nothing, then dragging Anakin around and acting like a fool.  "Get out," Watto repeated.  "You wasted your own time and I don't owe you nothing!"

The being snarled and stormed out, the group sighing in relief as they assumed they'd seen the last of the insane being.  Two days later, however, Watto received a message from Gardulla the Hutt.  To regain his honor and have a chance to be compensated, the being was demanding Anakin be used in a sacrificial match.

"A _what_?"  Watto and Shmi questioned.

"A sacrificial match," Obi-Wan sneered at the letter before telling them, "They're not especially common since most people don't want to risk their merchandise being damaged or killed.  Basically, you have two opposing teams, each protecting a . . . prize of some kind.  The match ends when there are no gladiators from the opposing team still able to fight or the prizes are destroyed."

"In this case, the prizes, or sacrifices, would be Anakin and . . . a broken protocol droid," Qui-Gon looked over the letter.  Watto looked surprise the slave could read, though it wasn't illegal, even if it wasn't encouraged.

"But Ani is far too young to be in the arena!"  Shmi clutched Obi-Wan's hand.  "He's only four!"

"It's the loophole," Qui-Gon returned the letter to Watto.  "Ani isn't _fighting_.  Since he's a sacrifice and not a gladiator, it's allowed."

"But—"  Shmi turned pleading eyes to the gladiators.  "They'll want to capture him, right?  Not kill him.  Right?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan hugged the woman tight.  "It depends on the fight and the master.  And many gladiators don't balk much at killing sacrifices, even when they're children."

"You can defend the boy, yes?"  Watto eyed the two men.

"Of course," Qui-Gon replied.  "And we'll bring him home, too."  
<>*<>

"You have long odds," Watto told Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon the day of the fight.  He looked upset that he was betting on Anakin's life, but happy that he might make a fair bit of money from the venture.  "The final count of fighters is twenty four."

"Ani will be fine," Qui-Gon told Shmi fiercely, gold flecking his eyes.

"Bet on it," Obi-Wan agreed, his eyes a pale gray with the same molten flecks, like lightning in a storm.

"Don't lose," Watto snapped.  "I've got a windfall on this!"

Shmi wanted to be angry at Watto for speaking that way, but she knew Anakin was as much a part of that windfall as the money.

"We won't be," The pair vowed, and Watto escorted them to the cells, the pair carrying their gear.  It would be the first time they were in full costume on Tatooine, and the first time they would be using their lightsabers as well.  So far the sad competition had not rated anything so deadly.

Anakin cried as he was chained to the large post in the center of the arena, the broken protocol droid hanging from the opposite side of it.  It was unusual to only use one post for both sacrifices, but it would work in Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's favor, in this case.  The crowd murmured softly as they watched; most Tatooine natives didn't go to the arena to watch a youngling be slaughtered, even if he was a slave.  Obi-Wan thought as long as the fighters were adults—or at least teenagers—the spectators could delude themselves into thinking the fights were voluntary.

"It'll be okay, baby," Shmi called to her son, pressed to the rail in the tiny section set aside for slaves.  Anakin tried to reach for her, sobbing loudly.  The guard chaining the boy slapped him roughly.

"Shut up."

Anakin tried, but fear and pain tore another sob from his throat.  The guard sneered, shoving him roughly back as he finished with the manacles, and stalked off the field.

"You get Anakin," Qui-Gon told his lover as they opened their bond, lightsabers in hand.  "You'll be able to get through the gate before me."

Obi-Wan nodded.  They would have some advantage getting out of the gate since there were only two of them rather than the two dozen the opposing team managed to dig up.  "I'll cut him from the post so we have more maneuverability."

Qui-Gon nodded, and the smaller man rocketed from the pit as soon as the gap in the gate was large enough.  Qui-Gon was mere breaths behind him.  "I've got your back!"

The spectators gasped, seeing the pair in full costume for the first time.  Murmurs swept over the crowd when they realized who was fighting for Anakin.  "The Jedi!"

Qui-Gon's lightsaber hissing to life only confirmed it, the big man slicing through his opponent's vibroblade with ease and Obi-Wan cut Anakin down.  The moment he had the boy free, Obi-Wan leapt back, racing for one of the arena walls with Qui-Gon at his back.  The moment they reached it, Obi-Wan put Anakin down and pressed him to it, the pair forming a wall in front of him.

The opposing team hesitated, one shouting.  "No one said nothing about the Jedi!"

"You're the ones who chose to slaughter a baby," Obi-Wan snapped, lightsabers at the ready.  Anakin scowled.

"I'm a big boy!"  Anakin protested, and Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow at the other gladiators.  Several people in the crowd turned green, only realizing then how young Anakin was, his insistence that he wasn't resonating with every being who had ever had a child about Anakin's age.

"Fine—we'll surrender," One of the gladiators smirked.  "You won't kill us then."

"We aren't Jedi," Qui-Gon snarled, and the pair began to glow.  Their eyes were still flecked with gold, but their love for each other and Anakin overcame their fury, tempering the caustic emotions in the Force.

"No!"  Anakin gripped Qui-Gon's tunic.  "That would make you bad, too!  If they surrender, you can't hurt them, Khi!  Promise!"

Qui-Gon drew in a sharp breath, gold fading from his eyes.  "Fine," The man agreed, still glaring at the gladiators.  "For Ani—if you surrender, you live."

In the audience, a cloaked figure growled and disappeared through the egress tunnel.  
<>*<>

Gardulla declared Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon the winners, Qui-Gon passing the little boy to his mother over the arena partition.  Shmi clutched her baby close, sobbing in relief.  Watto watched them for a moment, wings briefly sagging, before realizing how much money he'd just won.  The Toydarian headed for the bookies, crowing in excitement.

"You've been holding back in the arena," Watto accused Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan once he'd collected his winnings.

"We'd hoped to reveal our abilities at a better time," Qui-Gon admitted, kneeling in from of Watto.  "We're sorry, Master.  We had thought to make ourselves seem worse, then when you bet on us for a really difficult fight, we'd win and make you a lot of money."

"Of course," Watto snorted, though all he did was buffet both his new slaves about with his wings.  Qui-Gon nearly sagged in relief.  He and Obi-Wan were still in their shock collars, and Watto could have shocked them instead.  "Next time, though, you tell me.  You hiding anything else?"

"No, Master," Obi-Wan settled next to his lover, and Watto nearly rolled his eyes.  He had been concerned for Shmi, having a pair of men sharing her quarters, and two that could easily overpower her at that, but it seems it was unnecessary.

"You could have told me about that," Watto accused Shmi, who blinked at him.

Anakin giggled, squirming from Shmi's arms to throw himself at Obi-Wan.  "Did you see?"  The little boy asked.  "Did you?  _I'm_ a gladiator now, too!"

"No, you aren't," Watto bit out.  "And don't even think about trying.  Your ability with machines is far too valuable to waste you as a gladiator."

Shmi sagged in relief.  "Thank you, Master."

"Humph," Watto turned his back on them.  "I expect you on time at the shop in the morning."

"What do you want us to do with this droid?" Shmi gestured to bits and pieces that had been thrown next to them by the arena workers, slaves who handled clean up after the fights.

"Throw it out," Watto replied.  "A broken 3PO unit?  Worthless."

"Can I keep it?"  Anakin asked, blue eyes huge.  "I wanna fix it!"

Watto turned back to the child, then gave a short laugh.  Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon traded looks.  Shmi and Anakin were slaves, and Watto treated them as such, but it was also very clear the Toydarian adored them—like beloved pets.  It was comforting to the gladiators to know that even if Watto sold or lost them, Shmi and Anakin would be all right.  "Keep the droid," Watto told Anakin.  "It's useless to me."

"Thank you, Master!"  Anakin bowed like he'd seen Shmi do.

"You haul it home," Watto looked at the gladiators.  "And remember: dawn at the shop."

"Yes, Master," The three adults bowed, Qui-Gon hefting the main part of the droid while Obi-Wan collected the pieces.

Shmi sighed.  "I hope you two don't mind."

"Not at all," Obi-Wan ruffled Anakin's hair.  "It' nice to see that your master cares about you."

"Master Watto cares more than any of my other masters, but don't mistake it for anything," Shmi warned.  "It won't stop him from selling us.  Or losing us in a bet."

"It's still more than a lot of slaves have." Qui-Gon reminded her.  Shmi glanced at her son, then the gladiators, wondering what kind of hell the pair had gone through before reaching a master like Watto.  No slave had an easy life, but Shmi had a feeling spending it in the arena was worse.

"Let's get home," Shmi smiled, pressing kisses to each man's cheeks.  "And thank you.  For saving my son."

"I know we aren't . . . welcome, but whatever we can do to protect you both, we will." Qui-Gon told her.  "We probably won't be around long, but until Watto loses us or sells us, we can be family.  If—if that's all right."

Shmi considered both men for a moment, then smiled softly.  "I'd like that.  Thank you . . . brother."

Qui-Gon's smile was as bright as the suns.  
<>*<>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Skywalkers have all met and Shmi has demonstrated her own penchant for picking up strays. And Anakin gets his first stray droid. Also, itty bitty Ani.


	3. Adoption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy rocks the Skywalker household and a new family is born from the ashes.

They saw the smoke first, heavy against the brilliant blue of the Tatooine sky.  Qui-Gon dropped the pot in his hands, racing for the door.  The smoke was coming from the tiny slave souk and while Obi-Wan and Anakin were safe at Watto's, Shmi was not.  They'd pooled their Wupiupi the night before and she had gone to get fresh produce.

It took two minutes for Qui-Gon to run there, the Force giving him speed.  "Shmi!"

The war cried of the Tusken raiders twisted with the roar of the now-raging inferno, creating a noise like a beast from the bowels of the Sith hells.  Tatooine's peacekeepers were there, the shrieks of their blasters a sharp counterpoint to both flames and Tuskens.

"Shmi!"  Qui-Gon screamed diving into the fray.  The slaves' souk was cobbled together with whatever material could be found and built on the old junk yard where fuel and other trash had been thrown for generations.  Slaves never took fire there, knowing it was little more than a firetrap, but the Tuskens either didn't know or, more likely, didn't care.

A blaster bolt whizzed past Qui-Gon's head, grazing the man's cheek.  Qui-Gon grabbed the being and threw him into the nearest stone wall, undeterred.  He had to find Shmi.

A flash of periwinkle caught Qui-Gon's eye—Shmi's scarf!  Anakin, with Obi-Wan's help, had bought it for Shmi's last birthday.  They rarely saw her without the flowing bit of pretty.

"Shmi!"  Qui-Gon snatched her up, away from the fire licking dangerous close to her feet.

"Ani—!"  Shmi gasped, finding the strength to clutch Qui-Gon's tunic.

"Safe at Watto's with Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon assured her.  Blood soaked the man's tunic.  Shmi had been shot in the back by a slug thrower, likely a Tusken weapon.  "We need to get you medical attention."

Shmi laughed, then coughed, choking on her own blood.  "It's okay, Khi," She panted, trying to control the pain.  "I'd need bacta and they don't waste that on slaves."

"I can find some," Qui-Gon told her, desperate.

"It's too late, Qui-Gon," Shmi could feel darkness stealing over her, making her heart slow as the blood drained from her body.  She'd heard people say death was cold, but in Qui-Gon's arms, under the bright suns of Tatooine, Shmi felt warm.

"Shmi, please—"

The Force whispered of safety and pace.  Shmi relaxed in Qui-Gon's arms.  "Promise me Qui-Gon," Shmi breathed, listening to his heartbeat.  "Promise me that you'll take care of Anakin."

Shmi felt the Force shift, Qui-Gon's bond deepening as Obi-Wan's presence joined his lover's.  The Force rippled as Qui-Gon replied, "We will care for him as our own."

"Thank you," Shmi tugged Qui-Gon down, kissing his cheek.  "Tell Anakin I love him, and that I'm proud of him.  Always."

"Shmi—"

"I love you and Obi-Wan, too," Shmi added, dark eyes fluttering.  "Brother."

"Qui-Gon felt her go limp in his arms, chest falling a final time.  The man clutched her, wailing like a youngling.

"Khi!  We need to get these flames out!"  Another slave cried.  "there are beings trapped in the souk!"

— _Living before the dead,—_ Obi-Wan reminded his lover.  — _Shmi would want that, too.—_

Qui-Gon nodded, tucking his sister's body out of the way.  He would get her later for last rites of some kind.  Drying his eyes, Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the blazing souk.  Slaves and settlers from nearby homes and businesses fought the flames almost frantically, pouring sand over the burning, fuel-soaked ground.

"Kit!"  Qui-Gon heard a woman shriek.

"The door is stuck," A little boy cried.  Qui-Gon recognized the voice as a friend of Anakin's named Kitster.  "Mama—I'm scared!"

"Move back," Qui-Gon ordered them both, and slammed the door from its hinges with a Force-enhanced bottom kick.  Kit was in his arms the moment his foot landed, sobbing.  Qui-Gon passed the boy off, heading for the next building the Force called him to.

It took almost three hours to put out the raging fire.  
<>*<>

Qui-Gon was filthy when he arrived at Watto's, the suns high in the sky and Shmi's body draped over his soot-streaked arms.  She looked tiny against his large frame, face peaceful.  If not for the pallor of Shmi's skin and the blood staining Qui-Gon's hands and battered tunic, she would have appeared to be sleeping.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon told Watto, eyes red-rimmed.  "I couldn't just _leave_ her there—"

"Get in here before someone sees," Watto snapped, buffeting Qui-Gon with his wing.  "Idiot—carrying around corpses—!"

"Mommy?"  Anakin asked.  "The little boy had turned five a mere tenday ago, and just lost his first milk tooth.  "Why won't she wake up?"

"In the back," Watto ordered.  "You have an hour."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan gathered Anakin into his arms, all three disappearing hastily into the storeroom.  They hadn't even shut the door when Watto thrust a bolt of soft, white fabric at them.

"She needs a shroud," Watto told them shortly, then disappeared back into the shop.

"Shroud?" Anakin asked, eyes filling with tears.  "Is Mommy dead?  I don't want Mommy dead!"

"There was an attack on the souk, Anakin," Qui-Gon choked out.  "A group of Tuskens—I'm sorry, a stór.  So sorry.  I was too late."

"Was she alone?"  Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon shook her head.  "I held her as she died.  She—she didn't make it long enough for us to find medical help."

"Did it hurt?"  Anakin sniffed.

"No, a stór,"  Qui-Gon touched Shmi's face.  "She didn't feel any pain."

— _Truly?—_   Obi-Wan asked over their bond.

— _There was some, but the slug hit her spine, I think,—_   Qui-Gon replied.  — _It probably severed her nerves.  Without medical aid, she would never have walked again, even if she had lived.—_

Dying might have been a mercy, then, though Obi-Wan doubted Watto would have sold her.  The only people that would have bought her would have been a lab and he never would have made enough off the sale to purchase a replacement.  The woman had also done a lot of organizational work, in any case, and would have done perfectly fine in a hover chair.  Given that, it would have been better for Watto to keep her since she still would have earned her keep, at the very least, in the shop.

"I want my mommy," Anakin wailed, reaching for Shmi's body.  "Mommy—wake up, Mommy!"

"I'm sorry, Ani," Obi-Wan hugged the little boy close, rocking him.  "She isn't sleeping, a stór."

"No!"  Anakin continued to struggle.  "Mommy!  Mommy!"

Obi-Wan held Anakin tight.  "She's dead, Anakin.  I'm sorry—I'm so sorry."

It took almost a half an hour for the boy to wear himself out, Anakin going limp against Obi-Wan while his little body continued to shake with sobs.  Qui-Gon met his lover's eyes, briefly and Obi-Wan nodded, pressing a kiss to Anakin's hair.  Anakin was their son, now, no matter what the laws said about slaves adopting, no matter that it wasn't legal.

— _I love you, a chuisle mo chroí,—_ Qui-Gon breathed.  Obi-Wan had no need for words, replying to his lover with a mental image of the three of them together, as a family.  The Force tugged the picture, Anakin older, a little Togrutan girl in Qui-Gon's arms.  The pair held the image for a breath, then it was swept away, forgotten, in the wake of the needs of the present.

Once Anakin cried himself to sleep in Obi-Wan's arms, Qui-Gon prepared their sister's body for Giving.  On Tatooine, the dead were fed to the many Sarlaccs that called the planet home.  In this way, they were all equal in death.  Unlike freemen, however, slaves did not receive send-offs or funerals, their corpses dumped unceremoniously into the pits.

When Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon first arrived, the slaves that served as the undertakers had begged the gladiators to teach them how to killed a man swiftly and painlessly.  The dead weren't the only ones Given.  Slaves who were unable to work and couldn't be sold, even to the labs, were thrown to the sarlaccs as well.  While the necessity had broken their hearts, the two had done as they asked.

Qui-Gon silently stripped Shmi's body with a heavy heart, thankful Watto had gifted them a shroud.  Slaves could rarely afford such niceties, cast aside with little ceremony, like trash.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had both seen the tiny cloth Shmi had kept for Anakin, should something to happen to him.  They all prayed it saw no use.

It was Obi-Wan who deftly wove the keepsake braid from her chocolate curls, thin and neat as the one behind his own ear.  Qui-Gon tilted his head even as rocked Anakin.  "Four?"

"The Force told me to make one for Watto," Obi-Wan admitted, studying the braid.  It was a rare master who _wanted_ a keepsake from a slave and a rare one who received it.  Obi-Wan carefully cut of the braids.  "I know he is our master, but he adored her, I think.  Loved her, even . . . in his own way."

"You are a wonderful man, a chuisle mo chroí," Qui-Gon kissed his lover gently.

"You should wake Ani," Obi-Wan stroked Shmi's cheek.  "It's time to say good-bye."

Qui-Gon woke the little boy and Anakin fell on his mother's body.  "I love you, Mommy," Anakin sobbed, wrapping himself around her.  "Come back, Mommy!  I love you; I don't want you to go!  Don't leave me, Mommy, I love you!"

"Come on, Ani," Obi-Wan urged, needing to forcefully eradicate the boy from his mother's body.

"I want mommy," Anakin begged, thrashing as Qui-Gon covered her face.  "Stop it, Khi!  She can't breathe!  Mommy!  _Mommy!  MOMMY!_ "

Watto told Qui-Gon not to returned after taking Shmi to the Givers.  The man was filthy from the smoke and his clothing was burned.  Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the top of Shmi's head as he placed her carefully—ever so gently—on the Giver's skiff.  Numb, the man spend a coin on the sonics in the bathhouse, then went to make stew.  Shmi had gotten bantha meat the day before—Qui-Gon collapsed to the floor, sobbing in grief.  Slaves had little time to mourn, however, Watto had been generous.

After several minutes, Qui-Gon rose.  Grief or no, they all needed to eat and Qui-Gon desperately wanted the routine.  It almost made him feel like Shmi could still come home.  The man spared a bit of water to wipe his eyes, moving to the kitchen to start his stew with trembling hands.

Shmi had been alive, and then _not_ , and slaves weren't supposed to _mourn_ , but this was his _sister_.

Heart heavy, Qui-Gon set to work.  
<>*<>

Obi-Wan and Anakin returned to work when Qui-Gon left, finishing the tasks his arrival had interrupted.  No matter how heavy their hearts, or how kind their master, Obi-Wan and Anakin were slaves and their master's desires came before all else.  Watto, at least, said nothing when a one hour task turned to two.

Obi-Wan left Watto's keepsake braid on the counter when they returned to work.  It was gone when he next looked, though Watto never said anything.  Anakin was subdued and quiet, sucking his thumb as he went about his tasks.  It wasn't something Watto normally allowed, but he simply told the child, "Do it tomorrow and get the switch."

"Yes, Master," Anakin mumbled around the digit.

It was barely mid-afternoon when Watto waved a hand at Anakin.  "You're useless.  Go home.  You better work hard tomorrow, understand?"

"Yes, Master," The little boy hurried out before Watto changed his mind.  Obi-Wan watched him go.  Mos Espa was full of crime, but no one bothered the slaves.  They had nothing and were worth nothing when stolen—except, maybe, a messy cargo hold when their transmitter blew.

Once Anakin was out of sight, Watto locked the door.  "You listen, gladiator—that boy stays in working condition, understand?  I don't care what you do with him, but it better not be a problem for _me_ , understand?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan bowed.  "I'll make sure Khi understands as well."

"Tch," Watto almost spat.  "Damned Tuskens.  Cost me my best worker."

"Thank you for not selling Anakin," Obi-Wan said suddenly.

"Take care of him," Watto snapped.  "I won't have his value decreased for stupid reasons like injuries, understand?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan felt tension ease from his shoulders now that he knew Watto wouldn't sell any of them—he might lose them all in a bet, but they were safe from the auction block.

"Get out," Watto almost threw him out of the ship.  "Be here early tomorrow.  All of you.  Time is money!"

Obi-Wan bowed as he closed the door.  
<>*<>

Anakin sniffled softly as he made his way through Mos Espa.  He desperately wanted his mommy to hug him and tell him everything was all right.  Anakin was terrified Master Watto would sell him now, deciding Anakin was too much work to keep around without Shmi.  The boy was old enough and knowledgeable enough that Watto could probably get a decent amount selling him as a ship rat.

"Heard the Tuskens offed your whore mama," Someone mocked cruelly, shoving Anakin down.  Sand and stone scraped the child's chin and palms.

Anakin squirmed to the side as he rolled over, barely dodging a punch from an angry-looking Rodian a couple years his senior.  "Shut up, Greedo!"

"Mama ain't here to save you now," Greedo viciously kicked the little boy.  "And no one else cares about you."

"Khi and Ben do!"  Anakin half-sobbed, trying to scrambled away from the other boy.

"They only cared because they were fucking you whore mom," Greedo sneered.  "I guess _you_ could buy their protection the same way—wonder if they'd even _fit_."

"Shut up!"  Anakin shoved the Rodian boy away with the Force, sending him flying into a wall.  He'd never even considered that the gladiators were only nice to him because they were having sex with his mommy.  He knew a lot of slaves like Shmi had similar deals with men they lived with, but Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan never seemed interested in Shmi that way.  They didn't seem interested in _anyone_ that way, except each other.  "You're a _liar_!"

"Better not piss me off, koochoo," Greedo wheezed, clutching his side.  "Or I make sure you join your mama when the gladiators throw you out for not satisfying them."

Anakin let out a soft sob after Greedo left, curling in a little ball.  There were a fair number of slaves like Anakin—too little to be of worth, but with skills that would be incredibly useful to their masters in another few years.  Shmi had made sure Anakin had food and a place to sleep, but the orphans—like Anakin now was—didn't have anyone to help them.  Their tiny food and water allotments were taken by other slaves and most of them were forced to sleep outside.  Anakin knew a lot of orphans barters away their bodies—the only thing they had to sell—for the smallest of crumbs, a sip of water, or somewhere to sleep.

A lot of them died or got sold to the science labs once they became too much effort to keep, no matter how useful they would be later, since none of the other slaves cared what happened to them.

Still crying, Anakin headed for the small quarters he shared with the gladiators and his mommy—with the gladiators.  He could smell Qui-Gon's yummy stew as he approached, and his tummy rumbled.  Fear made the little boy freeze, one hand on the door.  What if Greedo was right?  What if they _didn't_ want him anymore?

"Hey, Ani," Obi-Wan's voice was soft, his hand gentle on the boy's shoulder.  "Did you just get home?"

Anakin nodded, silent as Obi-Wan led him into the apartment.  The stew smelled really good and Anakin's tummy grumbled again.  "Sounds like someone is hungry," Obi-Wan tousled Anakin's hair, then tilted his face up for a kiss from Qui-Gon.  "Should we wash up for late-meal?"

"It won't be much longer," Qui-Gon's smile was watery.  "I made bantha stew."

Anakin's mouth watered.  Qui-Gon made the _best_ bantha stew.  "I can clean!"  Anakin burst out, earning confused stares from the men.  "And I don't need a room or nothing!  And I won't eat much—I can just lick the pots.  And I can clean 'em!"

"What are you talking about, a stór?" Qui-Gon knelt to talk to the child.

"Greedo said you had sex with my mommy," Anakin explained, trying not to cry.  "Since she's d-dead, you can't fuck her no more, so you'll eat all the food and make me sleep outside."

"Greedo doesn't know anything," Obi-Wan started in an almost-growl, but Anakin wasn't done.

"I know I'm not pretty like mommy, because she was the prettiest, and—and I dunno it you can have sex with me, but—"

"Enough," Qui-Gon snapped, both men green tinged in disgust at the thought.  Anakin blanched, one hand clutching his filthy tunic as his thumb went in his mouth.  Qui-Gon swallowed back bile.  " _No one_ is going to touch you like that.  Understand?"

"Sorry," Anakin mumbled around his thumb, eyes huge.  "Please—I'm sorry—"

"It's all right, a stór," Qui-Gon gathered the boy into his arms.  Anakin curled into him, sobbing.  "I know Shmi is gone, but Obi-Wan and I are going to take care of you.  We promise."

Anakin blinked up at them, wiping his eyes.  "Like boy mommies?"

"Father," Obi-Wan corrected, joining the hug.  That Anakin forgot the word wasn't surprising.  Fathers were uncommon among slaves, where men were often sold away from their children since it was the woman who was needed to care for a baby and Anakin had never had one.

"Is that okay?"  Anakin asked, uncertain.  "We aren't related; I thought mommies and daddies had to be related."

"Freemen adopt, sometimes," Obi-Wan smiled.  "They take in and raise children they aren't related to by blood.  We can't make it legal like they can, but we want to adopt you."

"Would Mommy mind?"  Anakin worried.

"I'm sure your mommy would be very happy, a stór," Qui-Gon answered.

Obi-Wan nodded.  "We don't want to replace her, just . . . help her out."

"Shmi is _always_ going to be your mother, no matter what," Qui-Gon added.  "And, if you want us, we'll be your daddies."

"I can't call you both daddy," Anakin frowned, fingers tangled in Qui-Gon's tunic.  "How would you know them apart?"

"Children on my home world often call their daddies, 'papa,' too," Qui-Gon hugged both Anakin and Obi-Wan tight for a moment.  "If you would like."

"And—and you wouldn't kick me out or—or hurt me?" Anakin asked.

"We would care for you just like Shmi," Obi-Wan stroked the boy's hair.  "Is that okay?"

"Do I gotta do anything?"  Anakin wanted to agree so badly, but his mommy always said to make sure to ask lots of questions so he didn't agree to anything too fast.  Agreeing to things too fast got people in trouble.

"Nothing you wouldn't do for your mom," Qui-Gon smiled.  "We'd be your parents, just like Shmi."

"Mommy loves me," Anakin challenged.

"So do we, a stór," Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan.  "Always.  Just like her."

"And—And I get to eat?  Like with Mommy?"

"Just like with Mommy," Obi-Wan assured him.  "And you keep your room, and we help you at Watto's."

"Okay," Anakin whispered, still uncertain.  Qui-Gon kissed his hair, just like he had before Shmi died.  Anakin sniffled, looking from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan.  "Papa and Daddy."

"Come on, my son," Obi-Wan took Anakin from his lover's arms, smiling sappily.  "Let's get washed up."

Far from Tatooine, Darth Sidious was thrown violently from mediation as the darkside of the Force shifted and changed.  
<>*<>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.
> 
> Everyone should have known Shmi was going to die at some point since it's why Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have Anakin in the first place, and I'm so, so sorry. I love Shmi, but . . . it had to happen. And I didn't want to leave it off screen because she deserves way more than that, dammit. So I'm sorry I ruined your night/day/week, and if anyone has any suggestions for happy stories, feel free to leave them in the comments because I need a pick-me-up after that mess.
> 
> Also, Greedo uses the word, "Koochoo," which is supposedly a Huttese word that means "idiot."


End file.
